Getting to Know You
by IvyAddams
Summary: My version of how Morticia and Gomez met. As always, R
1. Chapter 1: A New Home

It was all a blur. Only small pieces of the night were still resonating. The slam of the door. The hospital lights. The storm. The lightning. The blood.

She sat in the coffee shop sipping a cup of tea. It was early in the morning. Outside of the little store, rain came down like bullets and viciously splattered against the windows. A newspaper lay unfolded in front of her. She leaned against the chair, but through the black dress her back stung in immense pain, and quickly she shot straight up again. Perusing the ads, she saw something that caught her eye. A small box in the bottom right corner of the page. "HOUSEKEEPING NEEDED" was the title. She kept reading. Included in the box was a job description, a phone number, an address, and a picture of a house. It was a big house, from the look of it. It seemed very gothic and dark, like some abandoned factory on a highway that people pass by and wonder what its story was. The woman was drawn to it.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"You rang?"

"Hello? I'm calling about the ad in the paper for a housekeeper."

"Just a second."

"Yes?"

"Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"I saw your ad in the newspaper and was wondering if I could apply for the job."

"Sure! How old are you?"

"18."

"Can you do basic housekeeping tasks?"

"Yes."

"How about extreme ones?"

" . . . Define extreme . . .?"

"I like your spirit! How soon can you get here?"

". . . tonight?"

"Perfect! I'll see you then."

"Wait, I- . . . hello . . . ?"

The woman hung up. She walked out of the phone booth and towards the train station. With what little money she had, she bought a train ticket and cautiously walked onto the platform. Inside the train she found an empty seat where she sat for the next seven hours. When she arrived, she found a map, oriented herself, and started walking. She walked for what felt like eternity. As she further entered this strange new environment, more houses disappeared. The ground turned grass-less and open, cracked-dirt planes of bare trees and dead bushes surrounded her. She turned around and couldn't see the houses that used to be there. _Am I going the right way?_ she thought. But it didn't matter. She had no where else to go.

The woman looked around and realized that she was in the middle of no where.

Facing back in the direction she was headed, she started walking up the barren hill in front of her. It was tiresome and she wasn't wearing the right attire, but she kept going. Pushing long, black hair out of her face, she willed herself to go a little further, just a little further. Panting, she collapsed at the top of the hill. A tear rolled down her cheek. She was truly lost, isolated and alone with no one to turn to.

She looked up. And she saw it.

It was the house in the newspaper. She uttered a small gasp of relief, and picked herself up, but the relief soon urned to fear as she walked towards the house, realizing that she had no idea who she was working for or what to expect. But the idea of this job was all she had. Anywhere was better than where she was.

As she approached, she took in the immense size of this house. It must have been over ten stories high. It had an eerie beauty, something that she couldn't help but marvel at.

She rang the doorbell at the large, oak front doors. A strange sound emitted from the house. It was the most unconventional, wonderful thing the woman had ever heard.

The door opened. She looked up. A Frankenstien-ish man, over seven feet tall was staring down at her. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and groaned at the sight of her.

"Hello. I spoke to someone earlier on the phone about the ad for a housekeeper in the newspaper," she said.

"Follow me," the tall man said slowly. He shuffled away from the door, giving her room to walk into the house.

At this, the first time that Morticia walked into the Addams house, she felt something that she had never felt before. It rippled through her body, a sense of being at home. She took in every aspect of this mansion. From the marble, chipped, checkered black-and-white floors to the huge wooden staircase that held evidence of termite damage, to the cobweb chandelier that looked like it was about to fall on top of her, to the antique looking tables with vases full of dead flowers and brown stems.

"Hello!" called a sharp, raspy voice. It was the voice of the person that Morticia had spoken to on the phone.

An old women hobbled down the steps. She had wild grey hair and a nose that was pointier than a thorn. But her toothy smile gave her ragged appearance a softness, and Morticia didn't feel threatened or unsafe.

"Hello. Are you the person that I spoke to on the phone?" she asked.

"Probably," said the woman, walking over to Morticia. "Are you the spirited 18-year-old?"

"Yes," Morticia replied, grinning slightly. "My name is Morticia Frump."

"How miserable to meet you, Morticia," said the woman, holding out her hand. "My name is—they call me Grandmama."

Morticia spared a glance at the rest of the entrance hall. "Your house is . . . beautiful."

"Thank you," Grandmama said, looking around pleasurably. "Technically it isn't mine anymore. My sons are the rightful owners, but they're out on a hunting . . . business . . . something trip. I don't know the details, but right now it's all for me," she sighed. "I see you've met our butler, Lurch," said Grandmama, gesturing to the Frankenstein-ish man.

"We spoke briefly," replied Morticia, looking up at the man.

He groaned.

"Don't expect much more of a reply," said Grandmama. "He's very shy."

Morticia turned back to Grandmama. "What exactly is included in this job?"

"Before we get to that, let me give you a tour of the house. It is very easy to get lost in," Grandmama chuckled. "I'll warn you, it's actually happened to a few people. I think they roam around to this day."

Morticia smiled to herself and followed Grandmama into the first room.

"This is the kitchen. We eat breakfast in here. Dinner is eaten in the dining room, through that door," Grandmama gestured. "By the way, breakfast is always at 8:00, and dinner is always at 8:00. Eat lunch whenever and wherever you feel like."

Morticia looked around the grimy kitchen. It was very filthy, used and rusting pots and pans were stacked everywhere. Water was boiling in a large pot near the sink, and the cupboards seemed to be half rotted away.

The two continued through the house, Grandmama showing Morticia every room, every staircase, every floor, ever nook and cranny until Morticia knew which doors would lead her into other rooms and which doors were secret passageways.

"Well," said Grandmama as they re-entered the main hallway, "That's everything. Are you sure you would like this job?"

"Certain," replied Morticia quickly.

"Wonderful! You'll start tomorrow morning. Where is your home? We can have Lurch pick you up in the morning," asked Grandmama.

Morticia slowly looked down. "I . . ."

"Ahhh," said Grandmama, understandingly. "No where left to go. Never mind that! You can have any room here." said Grandmama simply.

"Oh, no," rushed Morticia, "Really, I could never impose—"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Grandmama. "You'll stay here and that's all there is to it. Now, let's get you to your room."

For the rest of the night, Morticia wandered around the house, familiarizing herself with everything in it. She was so nervous she couldn't sleep. All she could do was stare out the broken window in her room, marveling at the stars and the wonderfully strange noises that emitted from the house. It almost seemed impossible that this morning she was broken and alone and now she was . . . not on the streets. Morticia's eyes slowly closed as her subconscious drifted off into something Morticia hadn't experienced in a long time—a feeling of safety.


	2. Chapter 2: Introductions

Over the course of the next two months, Morticia became accustomed to the tasks presented to her by the Addams's. She was required to sort through old antiques and artifacts buried within hundreds of rooms and decide if they were still in good condition or if they were beyond repair. She took it upon herself to maintain the greenery and garden of the house. During this time, she became very close with Grandmama, who often talked to her as she worked. Morticia learned that the Addams's had been a living, growing family for over a thousand years, and Grandmama's grandfather had come with his clan from Spain in 1872. She had two sons; one named Fester Addams and one named Gomez Addams. Fester was 22 and was in a constant, friendly battle with his younger brother Gomez, who was 19. Morticia loved listening to the family's history. She felt as though she was apart of it, even if she only held the meager position of housekeeper.

Grandmama learned quite a lot about Morticia as well. Apparently, Morticia chose to only wear black gowns, which she made herself. She was quite the seamstress, which led Grandmama to ask Morticia for sewing help. It was quite shocking at first to see this beautiful young girl in very flamboyant, revealing dresses, but Grandmama came to learn that Morticia was by no means corrupt—in fact, she was so drastically the opposite that it was impossible to see her in any way but classy and elegant. But whenever Grandmama asked Morticia about her family, all she would say was that it was "very complicated," and then change the subject.

It was mid-August and the temperature was searing. Today, Morticia was cleaning the bedrooms. Grandmama instructed Morticica to add cobwebs and dust to the corners of the room, make the beds and put fresh candles in the sticks, and organize or replaced anything that was misplaced. Today, Morticia was dressed in something particularly revealing due to the extreme heat. Clad in a short black, tight dress that covered her back and stomach, Morticia was lying on her back, her head under a desk in one of Grandmama's son's bedrooms, trying to stick and stretch cobwebs on the wood.

Meanwhile, downstairs, a car pulled up in the driveway. Two young men emerged from the car and entered the gigantic mansion.

"We're back!" came a shout from one of the two men.

"Children!" cried Grandmama, emerging from the kitchen. "How are my two boys?" she asked, giving them big hugs.

"Awful! How are you?" said one of them. He was stout and bald, very pale, with great, dark circles beneath his eyes and a toothy grin spread across his face. He wore a plain, black robe and was carrying a suitcase.

"Excellent!" cried Grandmama happily. "And how about you, Gomez?"

"Fine, fine," said the young man, smiling. Gomez was a strong man, tall and muscular, with short black hair, an unimposing mustache, and bold, brown eyes. His skin was tan, revealing what seemed to clearly be a Spanish heritage. He wore black pants and a jacket that hung loosely on his shoulders, revealing a perfectly toned torso. A suitcase was in his hand.

"I'll be back down to get the rest of our treasures out of the car," said Gomez, heading up the stairs.

"I'll start unloading," called Fester up to Gomez.

"Thank you, brother!" Gomez yelled back.

After climbing three sets of stairs, Gomez turned into his bedroom. He dropped his suitcase on the bed and threw his jacket off. He looked around the room in satisfaction. And then he saw it.

The body.

Gomez couldn't take his eyes off of it. It was white, slim and perfect. Long silky legs, flawless, pale skin, the black cloth barely covering it, stiletto heels . . . what was this thing in his room?

Gomez approached her slowly. Morticia heard footsteps and knew someone was in there.

Gomez quickly backed away as the glorious creature stood up. She had long, black hair that shined, cascading down her back. Lush, blood-red lips, and full, dark eyelashes beautifully completed her exquisite skeletal facial features, with high, defined cheekbones and thin arms and legs. Her blue eyes sparkled and her body was . . . Gomez could not bear to tear his eyes from it.

Morticia stared at the man in front of her. He was gorgeous. His muscular chest shined with an attractive layer of sweat. His black hair raked over his head, his soft, brown eyes invigorated. She was entranced, enticed, in—

"Gomez, your—oh!" exclaimed Fester, coming into the room, seeing Morticia. He dropped the glass vase he was holding and it shattered on the floor, pieces scattering everywhere.

"Fester!" yelled Gomez, coming out of his daze.

Morticia, who had awoken from her daze at the sound of the broken glass, pushed past Fester and ran from the room.

"Who was that?" said Fester, in awe.

"I don't . . . I don't know," said Gomez, staring at the place where she had left.

Morticia ran to her room. She sat on her bed, trying to process everything that had just happened. Those men must have been Grandmama's sons. And that man, that man . . . that was Gomez Addams. _Oh no,_ she thought. _I was wearing practically nothing, he must have been disgusted . . ._

"Morticia?" called Grandmama quietly from outside the door.

"Yes?" said Morticia quietly.

Grandmama came in and sat on the end of the bed. "I'm sorry, I should have told them that I hired you as our housekeeper, it just slipped my mind and—"

"Please do not be sorry," Morticia said abruptly, "I did not mind."

"Yes, but I'm sure if Gomez had known you were here, he would have . . . well, he wouldn't have . . ."

Morticia laughed. Grandmama smiled. "Never you mind, dearie. Now, come downstairs with me and we'll have a proper introduction."

"Let me put on something more . . ." Morticia paused and smiled, "something _less_ . . ."

Grandmama chucked and waited outside as Morticia changed into a short, tight, sleeveless black dress that covered her stomach, back, and partially her legs but not much more. Morticia left the room and followed Grandmama down the stairs to the main entrance hall.

Gomez (now fully clothed) and Fester were waiting at the bottom of the steps, having a very intense whispered conversation. At the sound of footsteps, however, they looked up to see Grandmama coming down the steps with Morticia.

Gomez's eyes were attached to Morticia again. She, however, looked down, determined to not be mesmerized by his eyes

"Sons, may I introduce our housekeeper, _Miss_ Morticia Frump," said Grandmama once they had reached the bottom of the steps. "Morticia, this is my son Fester Addams," Grandmama gestured. Fester smiled and gave Morticia a friendly wave.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Fester," Morticia smiled back.

"This," Grandmama, continued, "Is Gomez."

At this, Morticia looked at Gomez. He was stunningly attractive. Almost in a synchronized motion, she lifted her hand and he reached forward to kiss it.

"What a pleasure to meet you," said Morticia calmly.

"The pleasure is all mine," said Gomez, looking up at her from his position over her hand. She was so stunning from every angle. "Welcome to our home."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "It certainly is welcoming," she said quietly.

Sensing the situation was not just formal introductions, Grandmama and Fester exited. Morticia and Gomez were left, still frozen with her hand on his lips, alone in the entrance hall.

Morticia looked away and pulled her hand back. Gomez hastily retreated and they both turned away, Morticia walking up the stairs and Gomez into the kitchen.

"Well!" exclaimed Fester when Gomez entered the kitchen, "Aren't we off to an _interesting_ start with the new housekeeper?!"

Without responding, Gomez shoved Fester into the wall and reaching for an eyeball in a bowl on the table.

Fester squealed excitedly, "I could sense the love in the air!"

Gomez grabbed a knife sitting on the kitchen table and threw it over his head, missing Fester's ear by a millimeter.

"HA!" screamed Fester, "You missed!"

"Gomez, what do you think of Morticia?" said Grandmama inquisitively, stirring a filthy pot of animal intestines.

"I think," said Gomez, swallowing the eyeball, "That you should have told us you hired a housekeeper!"

"I meant to, I just forgot," said Grandmama in a fake-innocent voice.

"Gomez is just upset because he scared her away!" laughed Fester in the corner.

"I am not!" said Gomez, spinning around and throwing yet another knife at his brother, which yet again missed by a fraction of an inch, provoking a loud shriek of laughter from Fester, then continuing, "I just would have liked a warning."

Inside, Gomez was dying to know who . . . _what_ Morticia was. What he didn't know was that five floors up, her emotions were mirroring his.


	3. Chapter 3: A Spark

Over the course of the next three months, the entirety of the Addams house adjusted to the arrival of their new housekeeper. For the most part, everyone loved her. Fester liked to visit Morticia as she worked, telling her of his famous explosions stories and his disastrous experiments. Whenever she stumbled across something particularly odd in her sorting, she would give it to him at the end of the night and he would always take it gladly, excited as to how he would incorporate it into his next attack.

Gomez, however, was not quite as social. If he knew where Morticia was working, he made sure to be on the opposite side of the house. Morticia guessed that she had made a negative impression, considering she had been waiting in his room without warning, very unconventionally dressed at that. Even so, when she did see him during breakfast and dinner, all he would do was spare an acknowledging look at her. She wasn't sure if this was better than having him stare at her all the time or not having him there at all.

Autumn at the Addams house was magnificent. All of the usually bare trees grew black and brown leaves, which gently fell and came to litter the dead-grass ground. The house turned cold at night, and now that it was well into November, chill began to plague the Addams's during the day. Morticia adored the cold, growing fond of how it affected the house at night—unusual sounds would slice through a frozen silence, and a icy blanket of fear would wrap around her pale shoulders.

On a particularly gloomy day, when the sky was grey and the trees leaf-less, the air full of icy wind and the house very cold, Morticia was sorting through one of the many rooms full of unidentified objects and filth. As she gently picked up a very small, dust-covered box, she heard a knock at the door.

"Yes?" she called, brushing dust off of the box.

The door opened and Gomez Addams was standing there rather nonchalantly, trying his best to be calm and collected in front of the only woman who had ever made him nervous.

"That was my grandmother's," he said.

Morticia turned, rather surprised to see him, and noticed he was looking at the box.

"She was dying of cancer. As she sat in a hospital bed, she told my mother to find that box and pass it along when the time came," he continued, coming over to her. "My mother rushed to her house, found it and realized what it was, but before she could discuss it with my grandmother, the doctors cut her life short."

Morticia dared to really look at him again, for the first time since she had seen him that summer. His eyes spoke of a silent hurt that Morticia wished she could ease. She felt her insides contract as he approached, which was odd, because Morticia rarely felt this way. In fact, she realized, she had no idea what she was experiencing. _What is this feeling?_

He was now standing next to her, so close that her arm was almost touching his black, long-sleeved silk shirt, hanging loosely over his torso and giving the slightest definition to his muscles. He looked down at her. She was completely cloaked in black fabric, draped across her arms and flowing down her back to the floor. Through the lucid sleeves, he could see the beginnings of what looked like a scar running down to her back. _What is that? _he wondered, trying to look closer.

She turned slightly and the black fabric slipped to cover her arm completely again. Gomez stopped staring, focusing back on the little box that Morticia was holding. He decided to refrain from telling her that its contents were worth an estimated price of half a million dollars.

Morticia slid one of her long, red fingernails under the lid of the box and it snapped open. Inside lay a beautiful ring. The band was silver, encrusted with dozens of small crystal jewels. There was a beautiful black diamond that topped it, bold and beautiful. The ring looked more expensive than anything Morticia had ever seen. She refrained from gasping.

"It was my grandmother's wedding ring," he said.

The two of them stood there, staring at the breathtaking ring. She felt the air change. His breath was cold, chilling her neck each time he exhaled. He had the strangest and most sudden desire kiss her. He wanted her to turn and face him, her beautiful red lips on him, encompassing him, loving him—

She closed the box and the moment broke with an echoing _*snap*_. Gomez turned away and she breathed deeply, trying to shake off the feeling.

"I guess its value is most tremendous to you," she said quietly, placing the box in his hand.

He took it and she walked past him, leaving the room.

Morticia was so frightened of her feelings. _What was this? Was it one sided?_ She had to assume so, it was only safest.

Gomez stood frozen in his position in the room, the box in his hand. Staring at it, he contemplating taking it or not. Was there maybe a chance. . . could he possibly ever . . . ?

He shook his head, waking from his dreaming. He took a deep breath, placed the box in his pocket, and left the room.

Later that night, Morticia sat on her bed, looking at her mass collection of black dresses. She really wanted a new one. It had been a long time since she designed anything, since she had made a gown by hand. She left her bedroom and walked down the hallway, completely distracted, thinking of fabrics and stiching.

She almost ran into Gomez Addams when reality flew back into her mind. She was standing mere millimeters from him, her lips inches from his. He was looking down at her, she was eye level with his chest. The electricity was instant, he was dying to just—

"Excuse me," she muttered quietly, retreating and walking around him

"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm as she moved past him.

Her eyes widened. Intense shock fell threw her. It was happening again: the lightning, the pain, the blood—

She instantly jerked from his grip, shaking her head slightly, attempting to clear the fear from her mind.

_Shit_, he thought, instantly retreating his hand, _That was stupid. Why did you do that? Idiot._

"Morticia," he said. _Her name is so beautiful. It . . . so . . . beautiful . . ._ "Tomorrow I am going into town to visit a friend at the morgue. If you want to—if you have any errands to run or things to pick up," he paused, then thinking she didn't care, and frantically rushed, "But I am sure you are very busy—"

"Gomez," she cut him off. "I'll come."

Gomez's lips flickered into a smile. Then he turned and swiftly walked back the way he came. Morticia stood there, wondering what had just happened. Inside, Morticia felt something ignite inside of her. His touch, it was . . . she shut her mind down, refusing to face the past, not after only a few months.

The next day Gomez and Morticia sat silently in the backseat of the hearse (which functioned as the primary Addams mode of transportation) as Lurch drove. Morticia couldn't stop marveling at how the scenery changed from beautiful grimness to a colorful, disgusting, neon and lit-up world. Lurch pulled over allowing Gomez and Morticia to get out of the hearse. They walked along the sidewalks in broad daylight, both shrouding their eyes in dark glasses, quite the pair from anyone's viewpoint; he in a black and white stripped suit, she in a particularly beautiful black dress that trailed behind her and outlined her ever curve.

They walked with so much presence that no one could help but stare at them. In awe, fright, disgust, and confusion, men and women of all ages curiously looked at the pair. Morticia and Gomez, who were both used to stares, had never felt this many eyes on them. Morticia felt her stomach twisting as it had been when she met Gomez. Mentally, she started to pick herself apart, telling herself that her hair was too straight, her dresses unnecessarily dark, her makeup far too imposing.

Gomez, who appeared confident, couldn't stop swallowing nervously. _Why does she have to be so beautiful?_ he screamed to himself. _She only came with you because you practically begged, you foolish idiot. Your just a mediocre coward._

They walked in synchronized motion, their footsteps aligned. Despite how Morticia and Gomez doubted themselves, judging their own appearance harsher than any passerby could have, they silently wished that the moment would go on forever.


	4. Chapter 4: A Kiss

Gomez and Morticia continued to go into the nearby town during the winter. The car rides stopped being so silent and instead were filled with conversations about guillotines, favorite criminals and their worst experiences.

"You have no idea," said Gomez during one of their rides back home, "When I was in 9th grade, the _goth_ phase began to emerge and it was . . . disturbing," he shuddered.

"Ah, I quite frequently encounter those people," Morticia replied. "They always want to talk to me about how I managed to look _dark_," she rolled her eyes, "It was so aggravating. Why would one assume that I'm artificial? Why try to be someone you are not?" she angrily sighed and continued, getting deeper into her rant, "I am who I am and I do not try to be anything else. The ridiculous facade that people feel they need to present to the world to be unique or assimilated, it's just," she paused, staring out the window, "Pathetic."

Gomez stared in awe at Morticia. _She's naturally that beautiful?_

She turned back to him. "Am I wrong?"

"No!" cried Gomez quickly. "I mean no," he said quieter Morticia raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I know exactly how you feel."

Morticia's eyebrow maintained its position. _Was he sincere?_

Gomez looked away. Her expression could say so much. It told him that she was not pleased, and not pleasing Morticia became a small form of torture for him (and not the good kind). It twisted his insides, tensed him, made him want to hold her in his arms and make love to her until all of their problems were solved. _How would that help? _he bitterly thought to himself. Did she love him? Did she like him, for that matter? It was all Gomez had wanted to know since he first met her.

The car pulled up in front of the Addams house. Gomez got out as Lurch opened the door for Morticia. It was very late at night, the moon was full and the air was a comfortably biting cold.

"Morticia," said Gomez, before she could reach the door, "Do you like graveyards?"

Morticia did not look at him. "Yes," she said, "I find them ideally fit for reflection and sincerity."

"Have you ever seen our family's graveyard?" he asked.

"I've seen it from the 6th floor window but I have not physically been on its grounds," she said quietly, avoiding what she knew was coming.

"May I show you it?"

She turned to face him. His eyes caught a sliver of moonlight and sparkled. His black hair was so dark, his mustache accessorizing his face to perfection.

"Yes."

He offered his hand to her. She took it. It was ice cold, like death. They walked down the steps of the entrance and into the night.

The graveyard was behind the house. It stretched for an acre, past where their eyes could see. With Morticia, Gomez suddenly felt powerful and in control. She was willing to venture into the night with him—she must have had some feeling for him.

"That was my Uncle Imar," he said, pointing out one grave. "He was buried alive."

"How magnificent," breathed Morticia.

Gomez looked at her. She was so beautiful, pale and mysterious. The moonlight illuminated her, making her corpse-like existence even more mesmerizing. Her eyes calmly rested on one of the graves ahead.

"Who lies there?" she asked.

"Ah," said Gomez, walking over to it. "This is my fathers grave. He was killed very young on one of his adventures when he traveled the world, seeing everything. We don't actually know where he died," Gomez said rather offhanded, "Because his body parts were placed on our front door in a box."

Morticia's eyes could have written a symphony. Her lashes flickered artfully, her eyebrows raised and then resting contently, her beautiful blue sparkle clear as ever. It was hard to think of her as anything but perfection.

"Do you miss him?" she asked.

He looked at her. "Sometimes," he said quietly, "But death is such a majesty, it's hard to have emotions about it. It takes hold of me with a passion that I cannot control."

Morticia stared at the grave. "Cemeteries must be the apidimi of your desire."

His attention was on her now. "A weakness and a strength."

She looked at him. "There is weakness in dying but only strength in death."

He grabbed her waist, she placed her hands on his chest. "_Cara mia_," he breathed.

She stared into his eyes. He spoke spanish.

"_Mon amour_," she whispered.

She felt his lips encompass hers. _Red,_ she thought. _He tastes red._

Their kiss was slow and long. She reached her hands to his neck and lightly scraped her nails along his skin. He brought her closer and deepened their kiss. His fingers ran through the fabric clothing her back and unknowingly, he pressed upon a point of torn flesh. In a sudden jerk of pain and memory, she opened her eyes in alarm.

"Gomez," she broke off, gasping for breath, pushing away slightly.

_What did you do?!_ He stepped back, extremely embarrassed of his suddenness. He didn't look her in the eyes as he quietly said, "Morticia, I—"

"I'm not upset," she said quietly, looking down, her hair falling in front of her.

Gomez stood there, watching her. _Was that the right thing to do? Probably not— _

"Gomez," she said softly, "Gomez, I—I love your home, everything about your life. It is a miracle, something of a dream I could never have created in any world, subconsciously or awake. I cherish it, and I am still getting to know it," she looked back at him, flipping hair out of her face.

He was still staring, waiting for more, so she said, a bit more forcefully, "I fear that in knowing so little about you," she looked away again, noticing a nearby grave, a long, cold and stone bed, the name inscribed upon it _Atlas Addams._

She took a step towards it. "I may destroy a relationship I so desperately want."

Gomez bowed his head, in understanding. "I respect any wish you have."

She breathed, letting his wonderful words sink in. Words no one had ever abided by towards her. She exhaled, letting a small piece of guilt go and walked past him. As she entered about seven feet away from him, he turned back to her, calling out, "Morticia!"

She stopped, looked back at him across the graveyard, their eyes intertwined in the magical, midnight air.

In his mind, he constructed an elaborate speech, eloquently phrased, _I know that I desperately desire you. I have since I first saw you, and I will until I die. If I cannot love you, it is a fate I will never accept. Until I am told that personally, I will not stop trying, Morticia._

All that came out was, "I'm . . . sorry."

She gave him a small smile, eyes catching a sparkle of moonlight.

"Don't be," she whispered.


	5. Chapter 5: Gomez's Gift

Months slipped by so quickly. Morticia and Gomez struggled to make much contact, each afraid of the other. While she was upset at her own inability to not desire him, he was furious at how obtrusive he had been, forcing himself upon her in the graveyard. Both over exaggerated their actions, for they knew not that the other was worrying just as much, and because of this, their interaction grew scarcer and scarcer.

On a particularly dark evening, Morticia was working in the kitchen. She spent minimal time there due to the fact that she rarely ate, but nevertheless she loved categorizing Grandmama's immense quantities of chinas, pans, dishes and cutlery. Her knife collection alone took up six cabinets.

Suddenly, Morticia noticed voices coming from another room. It was Gomez and Grandmama talking next door. Quietly, she put down the knife in her hand and stood close to the open doorway, listening intently.

Dimly, she could hear Grandmama speak, "Gomez, all I'm saying is that—"

"I know what you're saying," said Gomez, cutting her off, "You have to trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"It's not that I don't trust you," Grandmama persisted, "It's just that I find it hard to believe that you know how to handle yourself."

"Really?" said Gomez, sounding irritated.

"Gomez, a woman's affections are no toy," said Grandmama sternly. "You cannot make many mistakes before—"

"Are you suggesting I'm making a mistake?" Gomez replied angrily.

_Who is he talking about? A girl? Now you have really lost your chance,_ Morticia thought desperately to herself.

"I'm just trying to tell you to be careful! She is to perfect to lose, and you had better not let that happen."

Morticia heard a door slam. She assumed that Grandmama had left the room. Her heart heavy, head full of contradictions, she went back to continue her work.

Gomez entered through the open doorway silently, unaware of its non-vacancy. His eyes fell upon the beautiful woman in the corner. Time stopped, like it always did when he saw Morticia. That evening, she had on a black dress which tightly wrapped around her hips and stomach in a silk fabric, and the long flowing sleeves covering her arms were also lucid. The dress was short towards the front but extended into a long train behind her. Her black hair tumbled down her back, her long red nails razor sharp yet inviting. Her lips, the always beautiful red, were closed lightly, and her eyelashes were so thick that it was almost impossible to glimpse the sparkling blue eyes that lay beneath them.

He stood there, just staring, for a few minutes. She was still unaware of his presence until he finally managed to say, "Morticia?"

She looked at him, surprised at his presence. "Gomez?" she answered.

He pulled his eyes off of her body and, looking in her blue eyes, continued, "There is something I think you should see."

His words came out shakily and he cursed himself for sounding like such a fool. Morticia had no idea what he was talking about and continued to stand still, waiting for him to continue.

"Upstairs," he added. "You should . . . see . . ." he stuttered weakly.

She smiled at his nervousness and put down the knife she was holding, walking over to him. He quickly turned, walked out of the kitchen and into the main hallway, leading her up the stairs. They went up two flights of steps before Gomez led her down a hall, stoping in front of a closed door.

He turned back to her. "If you want you can . . . close your eyes," he struggled to say.

Unsure but obediently, Morticia's lids flew shut. She heard the creak of the door open and felt his hand close around hers. A jet of electricity shot through her body at his touch, and she hoped he noticed the slight, nervous jolt of her hand. His hand pulled her forward and after walking a few feet forward, she knew she was inside of the mystery room. A light switch flicked on, and beneath her eyelids, Morticia could sense the room growing brighter.

"Now," he whispered, "Open."

Her eyes flashed open, and in front of Morticia lay the most glorious sight she had ever seen; a grand sewing room. Rolls and rolls of fabrics lined the walls, more material than she had ever seen before. Lace, felt, silk, velvet, everything in so many colors. Shade of blue, red, purple, grey and green were stacked vertically, and an entire wall was devoted to variants of black alone. A mannequin was positioned in the corner of the room and there was a large table with what looked like dozens of spools of thread, hundreds of needles, and a sewing machine in the center.

Morticia gasped, running to the wall of black fabric. "How . . .?"

Her long nails caressed the tops of the fabrics gently. She had never seen anything quite as incredible as this.

"You have spoken of an interest in design," he said, coming over to her. "I hope you like it."

"It's . . . perfect," she said, not finding the words to express her joy.

She turned around to face him. They stared fixated on one another's eyes, scared of making a move. A few seconds later, Gomez gathered all the strength he had ever been able to muster and began to say words he was terrified to let slip from his lips.

"Morticia," he started, not breaking eye contact, "Ever since the day I first saw you, I have been unable to think of anyone but you. I cannot describe it," he started rambling, growing more and more nervous, "I have never been this nervous around anyone before, I can't explain it. You are the most incredible woman I have ever met, perfect in every way, in everything you do, and I cannot live in this house much longer without . . . I . . . Morticia—" Gomez broke off, not sure if he had said too much or too little.

"Gomez," she said, coming up to him, her lips millimeters from his, "I—"

Before she could speak, in an action of utter intuition and desire, his hand reached behind her head and pulled her forward into a kiss, so passionately, so violently, she had no choice but to be pulled into his romantic tide. In the cold and rigid air, his skin was warm and comforting. Her body was against his, connecting with the crevices of his skin. His fingers ran through her soft, black hair, and she placed a pale, thin hand on his neck, steadying herself in the suddenness of the moment.

Their lips parted. He whispered, "Let me love you."

Without opening her eyes, Morticia seductively replied,

"If you insist."


	6. Chapter 6: By the Sea

It was late February, and there was a light coating of frost on the ground, yet it didn't feel as cold as it looked. The frost covered the thin branches of bare trees, making their twig-like limbs appear to be icicles, like a deathly hand extended into the snow, reaching out for something to grab on to. The condemned-looking Addams family house seemed more haunted in the winter, as if the site of a famous murder had taken place there so long ago. It was possible to imagine walking in those doors as an innocent wanderer, seeing blood on the broken floorboards. The scared explorer would turn back but find that they were trapped, and franticly look for a way out. In their panic, they would see something shining in the corner, shadows moving, and suddenly the innocent, curious wanderer would fall victim to the murderer. Empaled.

Morticia smiled to herself, imagined these stories playing out in front of her, picturing herself walking in these doors only to meet an unexpected, gloriously painful, red death. _This house._ Morticia sighed just thinking about it. She almost wanted to call it her house, for she loved the Addams' mansion, every plank of rotten wood, every cobweb, every breath she took within its walls. It satisfied her to no end that she had the chance to live in it.

Still, there was this small desire, an inkling inside of her that ached to explore. She had lived a poor life in the city, spending every day trying to escape the horrors she met on the streets. Now that she was free, she no reason to be held back and wanted to see something new. But Morticia couldn't picture exploring the unknown world without Gomez, whose relations with her had grown very strong since they had finally accepted each other's love. He had traveled the world many times, been to India, China, Beijing, Italy, Greece, Mexico, Canada, Australia . . . he knew so much. Alone, Morticia was afraid of the dangers that existed in foreignness.

Cold air rushed through a broken window in the ballroom. She was staring out of a window, letting the frozen night wrap around her fragile, pale skin. Her dazed, blue gems of eyes dreamily looked out at the murderous trees, and her mind transformed its thoughts of her murder in the house to ideas about blood freezing inside of her body because of the extreme cold.

A different aura floated behind her. It tugged at her consciousness, pulling her out of her imagination. She clung to her fantasies a little longer though, thinking of what it would be like for the flowing, red blood that coursed through her slow its circulation and then stop, turning into icicles made of blood. Then the warmth that was behind her made contact with her skin, and she was floated back into reality.

He whispered, "Tish. It's very late."

Silence. Her eyes woke up at the sound of the pet name he had given her. "That it is," she replied still dazed.

The warmth on her shoulders slid down her arms and to her hips. She leaned against him. "Tish," he said, with a small spark in his voice, "Let's go somewhere. Right now."

Her eyes flared up. She turned to face him. _What is he thinking?_ "Why?" she asked.

"Because," he said, running his fingers lightly through her black hair, "It's the perfect time."

"It's winter."

"And?" he smiled.

"Where would we go?" she asked, still not convinced of his idea.

"Somewhere you've never been."

She was surprised. Could he know what she had been thinking about? It was as if he could read her thoughts—he knew her better than she did.

"Such as?" she questioned.

Gomez made an exaggerated effort to think before replying, "The ocean."

Morticia looked at the amusement on his face, not wanting him to get what he wanted so easily. She continued to playfully challenge him, her nails raking across his clothed shoulders as she responded, "The water will be below freezing."

"Probably."

"How will we get there?"

"I'll drive."

At this she stopped completely. "When did you start driving?"

He laughed. "When I met you."

She turned away from him, walking out of his grasp and to the frozen window again. Looking out at the deserted, frozen estate, she asked, "What time is it?"

"A little after midnight."

"Do people normally go to the ocean at twilight?"

"What about us is anything close to normal?"

Her eyebrow raised. She turned to face him. His eyes, full of magnificent control and seductiveness, pulled her over to him. He was suddenly right in front of her, his lips encompassing hers, her freezing fingers against his warm face.

"Nothing," she smiled, breaking out of the kiss. "Absolutely nothing."

They quietly slipped out of the house and into his car. He, true to his word, could drive, and she found it fascinating to watch him smoothly and impressively be in command of the journey, succumbing to his persuasive perfection. The night was so cold yet it neither phased nor frightened them, rather it drove Morticia to lust for him even more.

She nonchalantly turned to look out of the car window and observe the solemnly black night, only the occasional star twinkling. The moon flooded the sky with an eerie, quiet beauty. Morticia adored the moon—she could stare at it for so long and never grow bored. It was so elegant, so enchanting, pearly and pale.

After what felt like minutes, he slowed and pulled to a stop on an empty street in front of a small wooden walkway, overshadowed with seagrasses. The moonlight lit up the soft, smooth sand. Her first thought after standing up outside was that the air felt different. Still freezing, but thicker: more moist, salty almost. It was completely foreign.

His hand found hers. They walked up the small wooden walkway, winding around the enormous green grasses which whispered against each other in the wind, whistling and shaking.

Then the walkway ended, the grasses fell away. They were left with the pearly sand and a powerful view of the ocean. It was a great, black blanket of water that extended in all directions for miles and miles, so far that she could not tell where it ended. In the sky, the white moon shimmered and reflected onto the silky blanket of water, revealing otherwise hidden waves and crevices.

She couldn't feel herself breathe. The moment was overwhelming, it was hard to believe this was real. Like a magical dream, one in which she was perfectly balanced between insanity and reality. But Gonez was with her—this must be a dream.

Morticia was wearing a beautiful silk gown, black, long and flowing, like the ocean stretched before her. Everything was rippling, her sense of factuality, her ideas of possibility. His hand pulled hers forward. She followed, walking to the waters' edge, needing his gentle push in the right direction, now completely subdued by the calm of the night.

Bare millimeters from the edge of the shore Morticia became scared and afraid, not wanting to go any closer. They stood perfectly still together, just in front of the water. Her silent breath struck the air. She took one step forwards.

Freezing water shocked her nerves. It was a completely new sensation. It was so cold that it strangely felt warm. The water blurred her senses and tricked her; she loved it. She walked into the water until she was knee-deep. The black, empty canvass seemed so uncertain. It was exciting and thrilling and horrifying and wonderful all at the same time. She turned back to him, the moonlight illuminating her white skin, her flowing silk dress becoming part of the vast sea.

Gomez's only question floated through the wind to meet her ears. "Do you like it?"

With her arms spread, the silk rippling all too perfectly, the moonlight silhouetting her beautiful body, so cold she couldn't think straight, she turned to him.

"There is nothing more perfect."


End file.
